The Problem with Blogging

Blogging is an amazing thing. I’m not 100% sure why I do it.

It’s partly because it’s a way of journalling that doesn’t cramp my hands as much as the good old-fashioned handwritten journalling that I also do, when I find a little extra time.
It’s partly because it’s a way to keep track of the incredible experience of becoming, and being, a mother. That’s why I started this blog — to record my experience — so that some day, when my baby’s older, or when I’m gone, . But when I first started I had more time for two reasons: 1. I didn’t have a daughter yet, and 2: I was stuck at a desk more than 40 hours per week at a booooooooooooooorrriinnnggggg job during which I needed to look and act busy just to stay awake.

It’s never been because I think anyone gives a damn about what I have to write. The ship of that dream sailed a long, long time ago when it dawned on me that I’m not very interesting and I really don’t have anything monumental to say. I’ll never change the world with my prose.

This is where we come to one of the problems with blogging. Even if what I write about is interesting to me, it may not necessarily be so to anyone else (read: the last post). But I don’t care about that, really, because I don’t write for anyone else. I write for myself.

Which, I might add, is why it’s so easy for me to not write at all. Being a mother, a wife, a housekeeper, a chef, a marketing executive and a social media guru (yes, I embellished those last two a little) hardly leaves time for me to focus on myself. At the end of the day, when I would love to be writing my blog, it’s much easier to pour a glass of wine and watch celebrity gossip television which requires no thought whatsoever.

But even when I’m not writing, I’m still thinking about what to write. It’s the little conversation I have with myself while I’m taking a shower, flossing my teeth, folding the laundry, driving. Some people make to-do lists, I make to-write lists. Although this conversation keeps me totally entertained, the problem is that I store these lists in my head. And my head is not a very safe place to keep things.

Before the pregnancy I was spacey, during the pregnancy I was spacier, during the newborn stages I was even spacier. I think I’m back to the pregnancy spaciness, but I’ve never made it back to normal. And I know that I’m supposed to keep a little notepad with me, but how realistic is it to write these things down while flossing?

So, just now, as I sat down to write, I knew that I had a gazillion things that I wanted to mention, but now I can’t think of a single one. But you know what? At least now you know what a few of the problems with blogging are.

Here’s another. It’s called Google Reader. Google Reader is an amazing tool which lets you link to your favorite blogs so that they’re all conveniently saved into little subscription folders to be opened and read at your leisure. This sounds great, right? But “at your leisure” is a thing that hardly comes around anymore, and when it does, I’m supposed to use it for blogging or doing something else that I enjoy. That is, if I’ve decided to let the house go messy and shirk all other responsibilities.

I have a big handful of blogs in my reader, and at any given time they’ve all got new posts that I haven’t been able to catch up with. It reminds me that the other bloggers are blogging away while I’m doing all kinds of stuff, but not blogging. Then I get pissed because I think to myself, how do they have all this time? Blogging is very time-consuming! And I know, because every writing teacher I’ve ever had has mentioned it, that the best way to become a writer is to write. Every. Day. At least 20 minutes. You wouldn’t think it’s that hard, but it is. Especially when the writing is done on the computer. The same place where Google Reader is. Where Facebook is. Where email is. Where twitter is. Where every imaginable distraction is.

So, after the baby is in bed and the kitchen is cleaned (sortof) and the toys are put away (sortof) and the day is winding down, I’ll pour myself a glass of wine, open my laptop, sit down to write, and be greeted with 40 new blog posts that I have to read before I can focus on my writing. And each of those 40 posts is linked to other blog posts. So then I go to those blogs and get hooked on them! I have to watch their videos. I have to check out their facebook pages. I have to check out their contests. I have to check out their readers’ comments. It’s a vicious, vicious cycle out of which I can not get!

In the mean time, there is still so much to write about. But I can’t beat myself up about it, when no one is reading anyways. It’s not like my homework will be late like it was all through college. It’s not like I’m going to fail my own blog.

But it’s the little snippets that I make note of in the circular file of my brain that get lost that are the real tragedies. It’s the little moments when May does something cute or hilarious or charming or new, the moments when I think to myself, “I have to write that down!” that I forget. Those little moments are lost forever.

The biggest problem with blogging, I declare, is not blogging.

One thought on “The Problem with Blogging

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